Loose Ends
by Ruby Casablanca
Summary: It was a rather slow realization that there was no place he would've rather been than right there next to her... And it broke his heart.


**A/N:** Okay, these keep getting really long, (sorry) and the reason it took so long for this one was because I had like, three different endings for this story, each one more depressing than the rest. So, after much editing of the last few hundred or so words, I settled on this bittersweet ending; I hope you like it. I did have one that was actually really,_ really_ sad, but I decided that they're both damaged enough and have enough to worry about, something that I feel the show's writers need to bring out more. Also, I didn't know if the beginning was too slow or not, so if you think it's a lot of unnecessary blather, then I apologize.

Also, I know that this has nothing to do with what is currently happening, so please just humor me. This is completely independent of the show's events!

Anyway, enough of me rambling! I hope you like this piece! And reviews are just wonderful!

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Loose Ends

He couldn't say that he knew exactly what he was doing. Honestly, he just looked stupid, standing there for what felt like forever, trying to tie his tie. His fingers refused to move in the right way, and the knot refused to lay flat or stay tight, or any other number of things that made him want to throw something.

Oh, the things he did for her. She owed him for this one.

To top things off, his mother, after a week long absence to God-knows-where, came home promptly to laugh at him. The first thing she said to him was how ridiculous he looked in the suit, and then moved into her room, mocking him the whole way there. Needless to say that he wished that she would choke on whatever pills her "doctor" had given her this time.

Eventually he just threw the thing off, shoving it into his pocket. She'd just have to live with the fact that he wasn't wearing a tie. They were stupid anyway. Part of him felt bad that he was just wadding up part of the very expensive tailored suit that she had let him borrow – she had assured him that her brother didn't suspect a thing, nor would he miss it – but then again, it was just a piece of fabric from a rich stiff. He'd get over a few wrinkles and sue the dry cleaners or something.

He studied himself in the mirror, unfamiliar with his reflection. It wasn't him. He wasn't the man staring back at him; he was a stranger, a man with gelled hair and impeccable taste in couture suits, who actually matched his dress shoes with his belt and wore cufflinks that held the same design as his pocket kerchief. It was as if someone had taken Roy Harper and replaced him with a better, richer version of him. All that was missing was the tie.

It was hard to move in so many layers; how did the rich ever get around in them? Maybe it was something else they had been trained to do since birth, like knowing what fork to use for dinner and walking flawlessly in extremely high heels, according to Thea.

God, she was a piece of work! Before he had even been invited to the dinner party she had forced him into learning table etiquette and how to do things "properly." It was obvious that he hated every single moment, and he made that very clear every time she tried to instruct him on something new. She just shot him a look and carried on, always so used to getting her way, and he'd pretend to listen and nod when she looked at him. Now he wished he'd actually paid attention, because now he knew the purpose of her lessons.

He was invited to a charity ball at her mansion; he was going to meet her entire family and every upscale bigwig in the city, and he was desperately unprepared. Now, usually he wouldn't care what anyone thought of him, rich or not, but this time it was different. He could see that this was important to her, that it meant a lot to her for him to get things right. She actually wanted her friends and family to like him, and now he was going to screw it all up. Any other day, he would've been offended at the idea that he had to change into someone else to win the affection of another, but with Thea, there really was no other way. He had to prove to her family that there was more to him than just a gang-banger from the Glades. She had already done enough to her reputation and risked her life plenty to win his respect, the least he could do was step up his game to win hers.

And that night had snuck up on him in no time. So, there he was, completely unprepared and uncharacteristically nervous, hands already sweating. He knew that no good would come out of stressing out, and that the longer he stayed in his home with his mother hurling insults at him through her bedroom door, the harder it would actually be to leave. And he couldn't stand Thea up, not again. She'd be crushed. So, swallowing all his nerves and anxiety, he grabbed his wallet off the table near the door, and left. He could hear screaming behind him, but the blood pounding in his ears from his thrumming heart drowned out all other noise.

He walked a few good blocks down the street, not really caring if it was the right way, just trying to put distance between himself and the allure of home, before he realized how far away Thea's house really was from the Glades. He'd never get there on time on foot, so he hailed over a stopped taxi once he got to a mildly populated area near the outer loop of the Glades. The driver, who was obviously on break and in the process of lighting a cigarette, stopped and looked him up and down, a confused and slightly critical look coming over his face. Roy just stared back, glaring a little.

"Just take me to the Queen mansion," he muttered, handing over all the money in his wallet, money that wasn't really his, but he'd never tell. "And can you not do that?" He didn't mean to be so rude to the man, but his nerves were on overdrive ergo his temper, and tobacco fumes were the last thing that could bring them down.

The man said something nasty under his breath, throwing the barely lit cigarette out the window before taking the money and placing the car in drive. They rode in silence, but the man still glanced back every few seconds to take a look at him, his red eyes ever more curious and searching. For a second Roy thought that he might know him, and feared maybe not in a good way, but no, he would remember a face like that, a face so dark and covered in wrinkled and sagging bags from stoned days long since passed. But the man didn't say a word, and Roy didn't call him out on anything. He was too preoccupied with the view from his window, counting all the seconds he still had left before he was thoroughly exposed and embarrassed in front of every dignitary and police officer in the area.

Why did he ever think this was a good idea? He knew that this wasn't going to end well, that he was just counting down the seconds until Thea realized that she was way out of his league and laughed at his failed attempts at trying. He was on his way to humiliation on a massive scale, and he was doing it willingly. He might as well let the Chief of Police arrest him at the door and place a bag over his head for good measure.

When he finally got to their wrought-iron gate after what felt like the longest car-ride of his life, he got out, not wanting Thea to see him arriving in a beaten up yellow cab whilst her friends rode up in Rolls Royce's and limousines. He was jittery and practically sprung out of the door, causing a slight commotion. His moving startled the driver, who called out after him.

"Hey, don't you want your change?" He waved some bills in the air, the change for the hundred Roy had given him.

"Keep it," Roy told him distractedly, eyeing up the long winding driveway ahead of him with trepidation.

"Hey! Do I know you? Weren't you on TV or something?" the man went on, his drive-long curiosity finally getting the better of him.

And Roy stopped dead in his tracks.

He had almost forgotten that he had been called out to the whole city, that now everyone knew just how messed up he really was because of his kidnapping. The whole world had watched his conviction, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he would be able to slip back into the shadows after he had been freed. No one had ever cared about him before. But, obviously he was wrong if a drugged up cab driver from the ghettoes could recognize him at a glance. He would never be free of his label, just another reason why walking up to one of the most prestigious houses in the entire city was a horrible idea. His whole body screamed for him to turn back and have this man take him home, but he placed one foot in front of the other and strode on, not answering the driver back.

Eventually he heard the engines start up and fade away, his last chance to turn back gone. Now he was stuck with no other option other than to stay at the party.

The walkway was long, but not long enough for his liking. He wished that it went on for miles, so long that he wouldn't have to run into the rich and fabulous so early on in his progress. As soon as he passed the wrought-iron gates, they walked across from him, behind him, following his steps as they all made their way to the common goal. The only difference was that they genuinely wanted to go, or at least acted like it with their million dollar smiles (literally) and perfect everything. All he could do was stare forward and act like he was walking towards a death sentence.

He let the others go in front of him, dallying at the front of the house, thinking that if he followed their lead that he might not be as noticeable. But as he rounded the face of the stone mansion, he knew that no matter what he did, he would stick out. Everyone around him seemed to know their way around, where to go and who to hand their fur coats and car keys to, while he didn't even know which door was the front door. They all traipsed over the lawn, down the stone-lined paths like they owned the place, so he just mixed himself into the crowd, trying to walk with a purpose and managing his best to ignore the whispers that he felt were all aimed at him.

What was it with rich people that made him think that they were always talking about him? Well, it wasn't like he was invisible; in fact he stood out quite a bit - the only male there younger than twenty five and without a date or suitable other to accompany him. There wasn't a thing he felt like he was doing right, and he tried his damndest to disappear. It had always been something that he excelled in, but was becoming more and more impossible as he reached the huge wooden doors that marked the arch of what he assumed to be the front entrance. The structures were propped open to let the masses in, each person greeting the two hosts that stood in the doorway - a woman of about fifty years wearing a modest white gown and a man who took most of the greeting upon himself, shaking each hand with a rehearsed yet polite smile.

Her family.

His heart sped up about ten beats faster as he neared closer and closer to them, wondering where Thea was if she wasn't with her family. If she had been standing with them, maybe his fears would be assuaged a little, but now it felt as if he was being fed to the wolves.

He reached the front steps faster than he wanted, and he was jumpy, looking for an out to run but saw none. People were everywhere, boxing him in. Instead he just inched closer and closer to the door while he tried harder and harder not to have a heart attack. The past-him would've looked for the fattest pockets to pick and purses to snatch, but the current-him was absolutely paralyzed.

He overheard the couple in front of him speaking to her brother and mother, distracting his panicking, their voices as well-mannered as their words even though they both looked no younger than seventy.

"Thank you so much for the invitation Moira. I'm sure that the company is flourishing under your wing," the elderly man said, smiling wide.

"Thank you Charles, you're too kind," she replied, embracing the man, clearly a friend of hers. Their speech was so formal, so out of date that it scared him. Did people really still talk like that? Because if they did, then he might as well dig his own grave at this point.

"And you as well Oliver," the man turned to her brother, smiling just as wide and shaking his hand. "I hear that you are also making a name for yourself. Your father would be proud."

"Thank you, sir. That means a lot," he replied, smiling a little.

The old man turned back to the woman, his wrinkled face taking on a more curious look.

"If it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if I could steal a moment with you Moira? I have some business to discuss with you regarding Robert's old shares in my company."

"Oh, of course," she replied, gesturing to the inside of the house. "Oliver, you don't mind taking over for a few minutes do you?"

"I'm sure I'll manage," he replied with a nod of his head, his mother patting his shoulder in thanks.

The three left, the elderly man and his wife walking beside her mother, talking with hand gestures. They disappeared behind the stone pillars, leaving him an open view of the house. It was his turn; there was no one to block him now – he literally could've been sick - and as soon as he was able to tear his sights away from the formidable sight in front of him, her brother was there to greet him.

He stuck out his hand for Roy to shake, which he took as firmly as he could despite the fact that he was fairly sure that he was sweating through the suit and shaking like a leaf. He watched as her brother's face contorted into something between amusement and recognition, his brow furrowing as he began to smile. He looked him up and down a few times, and in that look Roy knew that he knew he was wearing his suit, but Oliver didn't speak up about it. After what felt like the longest silent handshake ever, he was released from his tight grip.

"It's Roy, isn't it? Roy Harper? You're Thea's friend," Oliver asked him, and it took a moment before Roy even knew that he was addressing him.

"…Yeah," he managed, his mouth not moving with his mind, which felt like it was stuck in slow motion that compared to the hyper-speed of his ADHD thoughts. It was giving him a headache. He watched through the blurriness as Oliver's face took on a new look between amusement and confusion.

"Well, she's still getting ready upstairs," Oliver explained, Roy nodding along even though the words from his lips really looked and sounded like a giant jumble. He could tell Oliver was concerned about what was going on with him, though Roy didn't know if he had the right tact to say that he wasn't on anything.

"You are welcome to go up if you want?" Oliver tried again, placing a hand on Roy's shoulder, which he gratefully accepted as a needed balance.

"Thanks…" he replied slowly, turning away to save himself more embarrassment. Great. Just the way he wanted to make a first impression with her brother, to come off as some deranged stoner who couldn't make coherent sentences! Well, he was basically fucked. There went that - might as well leave with a bag over his head and a dunce cap. He was just glad that the Queens hadn't called the cops on him yet.

"Second floor, third door on the left," Oliver pointed off to the side of the foyer where a large double staircase lined the wall. He nodded in reply, managing a smile in the hopes that it would do something to redeem his poor social skills. Oliver just clapped his hand over Roy's shoulder, leaning over as if to say something in private.

"Just relax. We're not all as scary as we look," he joked, gently shoving him towards the stairs. It seemed to work, Roy's stiff posture loosening a little bit, and he was grateful for the effort, but he was far from comfortable. In fact, he felt downright uncomfortable. He was in for a hell of a night.

He took each stair slowly, looking down below him at everyone gathered there, many more voices flowing from the halls. They all seemed to fade the farther he travelled up, their big hair and colorful clothes all growing smaller and smaller until they vanished from sight and all he could see were emerald green floors and wooden walls. This place even felt like a castle. No wonder she acted like she was Cinderella.

There were portraits on the wall as he turned down a hall, pictures hanging in heavy metal frames from a long time ago, all covered in dust as if they were forgotten. There were happy people in them, a smiling boy holding up a fish from a hook, a man holding his shoulder with a proud gleam in his eyes while a young girl sat perched in the man's arms, squealing as the fish tried to touch her. He smiled at all the little Theas in the pictures, her front teeth gone as she widely grinned for the camera in high pigtails, as she held up a trophy proudly displaying a third place win in gymnastics. His favorite was the one where she wasn't smiling, when she was sitting at a table with the man from the other pictures, drawing something in crayon as he pointed to the page. She looked so intent and he looked so happy just to watch her. He wished he had someone who cared even a shred as much about him.

He moved on as he heard movement coming from behind the door at the end of the hall, remembering why he was really there to begin with, and the nervousness returned. He didn't know why he was so worked up, but something about being around this many important people, and possibly D.A's and police officers that knew his record, that made all his instincts scream to run. He felt like a bomb was going to go off, and the person behind the door he was creeping to held the trigger.

He barely let his knuckles touch the door as he pressed an ear to it, hoping to hear something from the other side, but he got nothing. The doors were too thick to get anything other than vibrations, and he held his breath until he turned blue as he knocked a few times. He heard a shuffle from behind, and waited for words.

"Go away Ollie! I'll be out in a few minutes!"

He could hear her call clear as day, and he laughed a little, despite his wanting to be collected. God she was loud. Somehow, he took her mistake in identity to be a go ahead to enter her room. He twisted the shiny bronze knob, careful not to make the clicking too loud, and slowly pushed the heavy orifice out of the way. It didn't creak too much, making his entrance not totally obnoxious, but he was still intruding, a fact he was again made painfully aware of as he took in her room that was equally the size of half his house. His mouth hung slightly agape as he absorbed all the space that was barely occupied, walls covered in expensive paintings and posters, more photos of her family. It was as if her room was some mash up between a museum of expensive antique furniture and a normal teenage girl's bedroom. It took him even longer to spot her figure perched at a vanity all the way across the room. She was turning away, putting something down as she stood to rise.

"Oliver, I told you I-"

She cut herself off, and he watched as her eyes grew wider, first in shock, then in pleasant surprise, at the sight of him.

His eyes, however, remained locked on her as they took in the completely transformed girl in front of him. Well, not completely transformed; she always looked wonderful, but he knew that she always downplayed all of her jewels and fancy clothes when she went to see him in the Glades. Now, around her own people, she positively exuded elegance. Her long hair had been partially plated up so that her curls softly fell over one shoulder, over her collar bone that had to have at least a million's worth in diamonds clasped around it with two more giant rocks sparkling on her ears and glittering on her wrist. Her shoulders were bare and pale, the dark olive of her gown contrasting against her fair complexion, reaching all the way down to her toes so that he could not see her feet, but judging by the rest of her appearance, he pretty much knew that her shoes were just as showy and high as the rest of her. But that wasn't what took his breath away; he had seen plenty of fancy things on his way in. No, the real beauty was her smile as she walked towards him, her eyes shining in delight as she took him in.

"You came," she said happily, reaching out to hug him. He melted into her arms without a word, just trying to wrap his head around the fact that she was actually his, that this beautiful girl actually chose him over every other peacock he saw walking in on his way here. She smelled like flowers, and he nuzzled into her hair just a little, not wanting to mess it up. Something about her, as high strung as she was, made him relax. She was intoxicating; she held the power to will the world away, if only for a moment. They parted quickly, but her hand still lingered in his.

"I can't believe you're actually here, and on time!" she cried, smiling from ear-to-ear.

"You thought I wouldn't show?" he asked, slightly offended but not too much to be mad. After all, she did have just reason to think he would flake. Hell, he planned on it every step of the way as soon as he had left his house.

"Well, this isn't exactly your version of fun…" she trailed, turning back to the vanity to pick something up. He couldn't imagine she needed anymore make-up or anything; she was absolutely perfect. But she was only reaching for her purse, and after the bejeweled bag was in her hands, she returned her focus back on him who had leaned back against a chest of drawers along the far wall. She looked him up and down, purposely checking him out, her large jade eyes scanning his entire body noticeably. "But I do say, you clean up nice Harper."

He rolled his eyes and laughed, shoving his hands in the pant pockets. "I try," he quipped. "Though I think your brother noticed that I happened to be wearing his suit, so…,"

It was Thea's turn to roll her eyes, covering her mouth with her hand as she groaned dejectedly at the fall out of her so-called "brilliant plan", though he knew she was probably secretly enjoying his awkwardness.

"I'm sorry, but I'm sure he'll be fine once I explain things. It's not like he's desperate for suits anyway," she sighed, walking closer to him and pulling on the lapels, now intently examining his clothes, but for a whole different reason that before. "As long as it's still intact by the end of the night, we'll be good…" Her eyes narrowed, puzzled as to something missing, until she homed in on what was throwing her off. Roy tried to look away as fast as he could, ignoring the fact that he had his tie shoved into his pocket instead of around his neck where she was now focused.

"Roy, where's your tie?" she asked, more amused than upset, and he snorted as he reluctantly pulled the wadded thing out of his pocket, handing it to her.

"The stupid thing wouldn't go on right," he sighed, glaring at the tie as if they were enemies. "But screw it. I'll be fine without it."

"Dozens of the most important political and business figures in the tri-city area are a floor below us to support my family's company and one of the biggest corporate deals of the year," she said seriously, her mouth forming a determined pout. "You are wearing a tie."

He held his hands up in a surrendering motion, letting her take the darned thing away from him. She untangled the fabric until a tie could be seen from the mess, and then she looped it around his neck, intent on her work.

"I tried to get it at least a hundred times, but it just won't tie," he protested, but that didn't stop her, in fact, her fingers continued their nimble movements until she had formed a perfect knot. He was speechless.

"How did you-?" he asked, unable to wrap his mind around her doing something so simple that he couldn't. Was that something they taught in rich-people schools? She smiled again in response, tightening the knot until it rested right on his throat, like it was supposed to, not too snug and not too loose. Even the ends were perfectly even. It was as if she had been tying ties all her life.

"My father was a busy man. I never got to see him a lot, so the one thing I did to actually spend time with him was that I would tie his ties," she explained casually, smoothing over the blue silk of her work, making every wrinkle vanish. "Every morning he would take a shower and get dressed, and I'd spring out of bed just in time to help him tie his tie and see him off... His hands were shaky from work in his past, and he couldn't tie them well himself. So, he taught me one day and it stuck; even when I was nine, ten, I would still tie them for him, and we would talk, laugh. Every day for as long as I can remember. Until now."

When she looked up, her eyes were shiny, but she was still smiling. He didn't know how to respond to that, but he got the feeling that she didn't want him to. His thoughts trailed back to the pictures in the hallway, of the little Thea and her father coloring, and he wondered how rare a moment like that must've been. Probably as rare as a good moment with his mother, maybe even rarer. But at least he still had a mother, as much as he wished she was gone. Thea didn't really have anyone from the likes of what he had heard, and the only family member she really, truly loved was dead. It made him sad, the idea of her so alone.

"I guess I still remember something," she laughed as she patted the tie, and he reached for her hand, taking it in his own and squeezing it just a little.

"You can always tie mine. God knows when I'll wear one again, but if I do, I'll know who to call," he said gently, but with a frown, realizing how truly stupid and dorky that sounded as soon as it had left his mouth. He grimaced a little as she laughed at his remark. He could've kicked himself, but Thea seemed to have her spirits picked up, so mortifying himself wasn't all for nothing. As long as he was there, he swore that she would never have to be alone again.

"Well good, because Oliver won't let me tie his," she joked back, leaning into him. He smiled at her, holding her a little closer.

"Well, I don't know why not," he replied, doing his best to look shocked, to which she laughed some more. "Your skills are definitely top notch."

"Why thank you," she smirked like the smart aleck she was. "Or, you know, I could always teach you how to tie a tie. And who knows, maybe you'd actually learn something this time!" she exclaimed, referencing those stupid "lessons" to which he just groaned and rolled his head back along with his eyes as she giggled.

"Shut up," he said under his breath, smiling against his will as he brushed his hand across her cheek, tilting her head up for a kiss.

And the kiss was sweet, his lips pleasantly familiar with the soft contours and shape of hers. It was funny how much it felt like they were meant to be together, how well they fit into each other's embrace. They were connected together, molded for each other, even though they were worlds apart. He wished they could live in times like these, times when no one was around to judge or stare, when boundaries and classifications were miles away and they were just a boy and a girl madly in love.

"Ahem…"

A polite clearing of the throat could be heard from the doorway, quickly but unwillingly parting the two lovers, shattering the tedious utopia of her room. He missed her reddened lips just as soon as they pulled away and formed a rather irritated word at the intruder.

"OLLIE!" she shouted, her voice high and angry.

"In my defense, I did knock," he replied diplomatically, making sure to stay a few paces away from her, mostly for his safety to which Roy silently gave his sympathies. He knew what Thea was like when she was upset, and right now, her brother looked like he was in the danger zone. Still, he watched as Oliver eyed them amusingly, his lips forming a tight smirk, before he opened his mouth once more.

"I was just going to let you know that your twenty minutes are up, and there is a room full of guests who are just _dying_ to see you," Oliver continued, stressing the word dying in a way that made him think that he was anything but thrilled to have his privacy infringed on.

"Oh joy," Thea replied with the same sarcastic enthusiasm mixed with something sadder that he couldn't quite understand. She grabbed her bag from off the counter where she had placed it, clutching it to her waist. She looked perfect, like a movie star.

"Come on Speedy," Oliver teased, gesturing to the door in a sweeping motion. "The party awaits."

"Trust me, this is not a party. This is a snooze-fest," Thea corrected him, rolling her eyes as she passed with Roy in her trail.

"Don't complain. You left me to do door duty, by myself. You owe me one, _big time_," Oliver replied, shuddering as if door duty was some sort of cruel and unusual punishment. Thea seemed to respond in the same way, and also shuddered at the notion.

The trio descended down onto the main floor, Thea and her brother rather gracefully and Roy not so much, his need to hide into the crowd returning as people immediately walked up to Thea, kissing her in that ridiculous way on both cheeks and lauding her sense of style. He could've gagged. Oliver parted with them early on, vanishing himself in the way he so desperately wanted to. Instead, he was stuck behind his girlfriend, forced into following her around as she made her rounds in the social circles, talking to everyone she was supposed to. The older women droned on about how the times have changed and how disgraceful social protocol was, practically slamming her nicely to her face while she smiled and nodded it all off. The men were disturbing, and it took all of his efforts not to punch them in their creepy, pedophile-ish faces as they kissed her hands and offered her champagne which she continually denied. All the girls her age talked about her as soon as she turned her head, and she pretended not to hear word of it. In all honesty, it seemed exhausting.

And never once did she break her smile.

She laughed at all the right jokes and spoke at all the right times, moved to the right places. But never once through all the chaos, through the noise she so hated, through spiteful words and comments, did she break her wonderful smile. It fell and faded, but never left.

And her hand never left his. It grew tighter when she felt like she was going to fall; it was looser when she feared her palms were too sweaty to be decent. But she was always connected to him, even when he didn't speak a word.

And he was the one who thought he was in for a long night of social battering, but compared to her, he had it easy. Compared to her, he had nothing to fear.

So, when she leaned over during a waltz, tired and on the brink of tears, and asked him to dance, he didn't think twice. He took her hand and led her out into the center of the dance floor, praying that at least he remembered the seeminlgy simple steps. And soon enough they were spinning, whirling, and gliding across the marble floors, completely in their own world, far away from the voices. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as she spun, wishing to fly. And she looked peaceful.

And they laughed too. She smiled at every under-the-breath comment he'd made that she didn't dare laugh at before. She laughed so hard she cried, regardless of every other prissy bitch and uptight socialite that stared as they spun dizzying circles around the center of the crowded room until all the colors blurred into one. Until they felt completely alone, dancing out of rhythm, shaking and twirling and holding each other closer than ever possible.

And she was happy. She was happier with him, and as the music died down and a slower song picked up, she leaned back into him, resting her head on his chest as he wrapped his arm around her waist. All of the young girls stared, curious as to whom they were, but they were a million miles away. He could feel her heart beat against his, and he allowed himself to finally relax into her embrace. It was a slow realization that, despite everything else, there was no place he would've rather been than right there next to her.

"I'm glad you came tonight…" she whispered, and he could feel his hearts straining to keep themselves from bursting. He placed a kiss on her forehead, and another, trying to let her know that he understood what she couldn't tell him yet, at least not in words.

"Wouldn't have missed it," he replied softly, squeezing her hand just a bit to let her know he meant it.

Before tonight, he never really knew how much she relied on him, how much she really, truly _needed_ him. He was her crutch, practically the only thing that kept her from losing her mind, the only thing that separated her from the ever-growing darkness of her life and the hope she still clung to. Him, that one hand that she never let go, that she squeezed so hard that her knuckles turned blue and until he couldn't feel his fingertips. He whom she never spoke a word to but said everything in the world.

Before tonight, he never really knew how much _he_ needed _her_.

He loved her, but she scared him. And it wasn't because she was damaged, because he could deal with damage. Everyone had their own loose ends and frayed edges. It was just that he feared that she wasn't like his tie, the once-wrinkled, rejected thing smoothed to a crisp by diligent hands. She was a person, and her emotions were like knots in the silk that were impossible to work out. One day, he wouldn't be able to tie her back together again, and it broke his heart.


End file.
